


always just that close

by thisissirius



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Codependency, Friendship, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2109516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We gotta fill this place up,” Jonny says, staring up into the half-empty stands.</p><p>Patrick’s flush from playing, but he nods, bumping his fist against Jonny’s side. Jonny doesn’t think he’s being taken seriously, doesn’t know himself if it’s even possible, but when Patrick pauses, says, “Yeah,” in a voice that doesn’t waver, Jonny finds confidence. </p><p>“You and me.”</p><p> "Yeah,” Patrick says again, looking serious. “We’ll do it.”</p><p>Jonny almost believes they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always just that close

**Author's Note:**

> this was started a long time ago, back when everyone was worrying over whether or not kane and toews were going to sign. 
> 
> i finally finished this \0/
> 
> thank you to hazel for looking this over for me :) all errors are mine.

“Are you in for the long haul?” Patrick’s looking at him. His hair is damp from the shower and and it’s starting to curl at the ends. Jonny doesn’t know why it’s this that he chooses to focus on, but the image remains vivid even twenty years later. He’s thirteen and standing in a locker room staring at someone who looks like he never gets the right answer. 

“Are you?” Jonny demands. 

Patrick grins, showing teeth, and holds up his fist. “I am if you are.”

Jonny narrows his eyes and stares. It’s not that he doesn’t know what to do, but what the fuck, he’s probably never going to _see_ Patrick again. His gaze flicks back up and Patrick’s expression falters, like he thinks Jonny isn’t going to reciprocate. 

Bumping his fist to Patrick’s, Jonny nods decisively. “You’re on.”

It doesn’t occur to Jonny until later that it neither of them bothered to ask whether that meant together.

\--- 

Jonny watches the draft from the family couch in Winnipeg. His father is staring intently at the television, having already determined his own draft conclusions, though Jonny doesn’t agree with some of the choices, most glaringly his first pick. Jonny is going to the Hawks, and though he thinks his father’s choice of Kyle Turris for the same team is not without merit, he knows with a certainty that surprises him that it won’t be.

“They’ll pick Patrick Kane,” Jonny says.

His father’s brow furrows, but doesn’t say anything. 

Jonny flushes, not sure whether the Hawks actually will, but knowing that if anyone deserves to be a first pick, it’s Patrick. Despite the fact that they’ve played together time and time again, they don’t know each other that well. Patrick’s loud and fills spaces like Jonny’s never been able to, but he’s also someone Jonny thinks he could be friends with easily if given the chance. Still, Jonny will never tire of watching him play and he knows that whatever team that ends up with Patrick Kane on the roster will go far.

Selfishly, Jonny wants it to be _his_ team. 

It’s not until Patrick’s standing on the podium, drowning in a Hawks jersey, that Jonny feels a rush of pride. He keeps his eyes on the TV and deliberately doesn’t acknowledge his father’s curious look.

\--- 

“We gotta fill this place up,” Jonny says, staring up into the half-empty stands.

Patrick’s flush from playing, but he nods, bumping his fist against Jonny’s side. Jonny doesn’t think he’s being taken seriously, doesn’t know himself if it’s even possible, but when Patrick pauses, says, “Yeah,” in a voice that doesn’t waver, Jonny finds confidence. 

“You and me.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says again, looking serious. “We’ll do it.”

Jonny almost believes they can.

\--- 

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says.

Jonny tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder as he shoves the last of his clothes into his suitcase. “Dude, you said that like a hundred times.”

Patrick makes a noise into the phone. “Yeah, well, I mean it.”

“I know,” Jonny says, rolling his eyes. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t even have it without you, you know?”

It’s more honest than Jonny’s expecting, though he’s not surprised. If there’s one person he can count on to always tell him the truth, it’s Patrick, no matter how much it might hurt. “Patrick,” he says, the name foreign to his tongue because he’s always been Kaner or Peeks. 

Patrick makes a sound like it’s been punched out of him. “I’ll fix it.”

Jonny shakes his head even though he knows Patrick won’t see it. “It’s okay. Please don’t mention me.”

“It’s like righting a wrong,” Patrick tells him matter-of-fact, and that is such bullshit. “You can even make a speech.”

Jonny is absolutely not doing that.

\--- 

Jonny stretches out on the bed, frowning up at the ceiling. He’s still trying to acclimatise to his new apartment, to get used to the fact that he has enough money to even own an apartment like this. He scrubs a hand over his face, not really nervous about the upcoming convention, but doing his best to not think about it. At all.

“Stop freaking out,” Patrick says, when Jonny finally calls him, because if he sits in his apartment all by himself for too much longer he’s going to go insane. 

“I’m not freaking out.” Jonny scowls.

Patrick snorts but doesn’t say anything else. There’s a banging of a cupboard in the background and Jonny bites down on asking him what he’s doing. He knows Patrick’s just bought a condo in Trump Tower, but he’s still living with the Bowmans and Jonny’s pretty sure that's because Patrick is afraid of leaving. “Dude, I can hear your panic from over here.”

“Don’t be an asshole.” Jonny draws his feet up the bed and rests his phone on his knees. Patrick’s silence is indignant - and Jonny would be worried about knowing what Patrick’s _silences_ sound like except that he has other things to worry about, like - “They want to make me captain.”

The silence on the other end of the phone feels too loud and Jonny wants to talk over it, to fill every space with words so that he doesn’t have to worry that Patrick won’t accept it.

“That’s awesome, man, congratulations.” There’s no insincerity in the words, Patrick sounds like he’s genuinely pleased, but Jonny’s not confident enough in his friendship with Patrick that he can take it at face value. 

“You’re not-” Jonny pauses, wants to find words that won’t sound vulnerable or petty. “If you don’t want me to-”

Patrick sighs into the phone. There’s the sound of a door closing and clothes rustling. “I know this isn’t you angling for a compliment, man, so I’m gonna say this once and then deny that I ever did.” Jonny opens his mouth to say something to that, but Patrick is barrelling over him. “Everyone knows you fucking deserve it, okay? You’re awesome at hockey, and the C was yours as soon as you landed in Chicago.”

Jonny’s smile is wide as he looks up at the ceiling, and he knows Patrick can hear it when he says, “Yeah?”

“I said I wasn’t repeating myself,” Patrick says shortly. There’s more rustling. “I’m not stoking your ego anymore.”

“I should have recorded this,” Jonny says, pretending to be wistful, and laughs over Patrick’s cursing. “Thanks.”

“Whatever,” Patrick says, but Jonny can almost picture the blush on his face. 

Jonny segues into hockey and the next season, where both of them are adamant that they’re going to make it. It’s not until Jonny’s about to hang up that Patrick says, 

“You know I’m fucking proud of you, man,”

short and sharp and quick, like he’s afraid of what he’s saying.

\--- 

“We made the playoffs,” Patrick says, clinking the neck of his bottle against Jonny’s.

Jonny’s got his feet up against the coffee table and he grins. “Yeah, were you surprised?”

“Nope,” Patrick lies. He rolls his head against the back of the couch and stares at Jonny with an expression that’s almost careful. “You think we can do it?”

“I don’t think we can not do it,” Jonny says, choosing his words just as carefully. “Obviously I want it.”

“Yeah.” Patrick looks up at the ceiling. “Obviously I want a cup, man.”

Jonny snorts. So does everyone else in the NHL, he doesn’t say, because they both know that already. He knows Patrick isn’t done; the silence is heavy with something, though Jonny doesn’t know what it is. 

“We said we’d do shit like this,” Patrick says, when the silence is just starting to get to Jonny. “Fill the seats, make Chicago a team anyone would be proud to be on, you know?”

Nodding, Jonny takes a long sip of his beer. “We are, man.”

Patrick sighs, sinking lower into the couch. “Imagine what a cup would do.”

Jonny does, all the fucking time. He knows what Patrick means. He wants it and he wants it _now_ , but he knows what the odds on that are. Biting back on a quick retort, he frowns up at the ceiling. “We’ll do it. You and me.”

There’s a long, drawn silence and Jonny doesn’t know if Patrick’s going to answer. He tilts his head to look. Patrick's staring at the label on his beer bottle, frowning, but he doesn’t look unhappy. 

“Together, eh?”

It does what he wants it to; Patrick grins, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, Jonny, _together_.”

\--- 

They climb into the same cab, knowing that it’s going to be a Story.

It’s _not_ separation anxiety (and fuck Sharpy anyway). Jonny’s been apart from Patrick before and he will be again, but it feels so much longer than a couple of days since they last talked. They’ve been living in each other’s pockets so long that when they’re not, it takes a while to acclimatise. Even longer when he’s having to face Patrick across the ice. 

“Your sisters here?”

“All of ‘em,” Patrick says with a huge grin. He launches into a quick rundown of everything the girls have been up to since they landed in Vancouver. Jonny lets it wash over him, content that Patrick seems happy. Jonny frowns slightly when he thinks about the bad press Patrick’s been getting about his lack of production. He knows better than anyone what it takes to have chemistry with Patrick.

“-so what about you, man?”

“What about me?”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “I _mean_ , your mom and dad here?”

Jonny nods slowly. “You know you’ll be baller, don’t you?”

Looking confused at the sudden change in conversation, Patrick frowns. “Uh, Jonny, what?”

Running a hand through his hair, frustrated, Jonny sighs. “You’re better than they say you are.”

Patrick keeps staring at Jonny like he’s gone nuts, but Jonny knows he gets it, can see it on his face. He’s never been particularly good at hiding anything, least of all from Jonny. “You know I don’t care about that shit.”

“Fuck that,” Jonny says. He wraps an arm around Patrick’s neck. Patrick stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. Contrary to what their asshole teammates think, they don’t do the casual touching thing very often, but when they do, Jonny tries to make it _count_. “You fucking _show them_ that you can.”

Relaxing slightly, Patrick momentarily rests his head against Jonny’s arm, sucking in a breath. “One of us _isn’t_.”

It’s the long and short of it; one of them will leave Canada with a gold, and one of them won’t. Jonny can’t let it bother him, wants it desperately for himself, but he wants it for Patrick too. It’s fucking confusing and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “Whatever happens, we’re getting a cup together.”

Patrick laughs, the sound just a little too sharp in the quiet of the cab. “A medal and a cup in the same year? Keep dreaming, Tazer.”

“If I have to.” Jonny squeezes Patrick’s shoulder and then lets go, but Patrick reaches over to grab his wrist. 

“Good luck,” Patrick says, his mouth twisting on the words, but Jonny knows he means them. 

He stares out the window, unable to keep the smile off his face. Patrick doesn’t let go of his wrist until they get to the hotel.

\--- 

They win the Stanley Cup.

“I love you,” Patrick says, fierce, when he holds onto Jonny on the ice. 

Jonny keeps talking, doesn’t really know what he’s saying, but just needs Patrick to know that he cares, that he’s always going to care, and that he wants to keep playing this kind of hockey with Patrick. 

“Always,” he says. 

Patrick’s eyes are wet when he nods, swallowing thickly. “Yeah.”

\--- 

“‘I was in on it all along?’ Really, Jonny?” Patrick says, coming into the hotel room and kicking the door shut behind him.

Jonny is sprawled out on the bed, but he looks over, raising his eyebrows. “You wanna see me sweat, huh, Kaner?”

Laughing, Patrick drops down onto the end of his own bed, grinning. “Whatever man, you knew I was always going to pick you.”

“That so?” Jonny says it conversationally, but there’s an edge he can’t keep out of his voice. 

Patrick tugs off his shirt, but doesn’t move. He lets the shirt hang between his legs as he rubs the back of his head. “You know I don’t want that shit for real, right?”

Jonny doesn’t feel like making this easy for him, but bites back on asking _what shit,_ and settles for shrugging. He doesn’t know if Patrick’s looking over and doesn’t particularly care. “You’ll get your wish in 2014, you know.”

“Fuck off,” Patrick snaps. “There’s no _loss_ here, asshole.”

Shifting up onto his elbows, Jonny snaps, “What the fuck?”

Patrick drops his shirt on the floor, and turns, expression angry. “We play against each other there, but there’s always something to lose. This is an all-star game, and all I gotta lose is my dignity.”

It makes sense in a Patrick kind of way, and Jonny scrubs a hand over his face, not even sure he can deal with this right now. He wants the levity back, and almost regrets saying anything at all. Almost. “It means more that you wanna _with_ me.”

Opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, Patrick’s run out of steam. He’s still shirtless and Jonny thinks, a little hysterically, that that’s a really stupid thing to focus on. It beats having to decipher the look on Patrick’s face, though. “It’s a stupid thing to get hung up on, Jonny.”

He wants to snap back, but Patrick’s tone isn’t angry. It sounds _tired_. “Peeks-”

“Fuck you.” It lacks heat, but Jonny shuts his mouth anyway. “You know I’d rather win a cup with you, asshole. I _have_. It was a fucking joke, I want to play against you sometimes and you should take that as a compliment, not get angry over it.”

Jonny turns away from Patrick completely, feeling his cheeks heat up in shame, but he can’t bring himself to apologise. 

“I wanna win with you, too,” Patrick says, before disappearing into the bathroom.

\--- 

_Whatever you need, man_ , Jonny sends Patrick, when the news about Madison hits.

“I’m behind him one hundred percent,” he says, when the press asks. 

He means every word, and when he sees Patrick at the convention, he pulls him into a one-armed hug, resting his nose against Patrick’s temple. Patrick lets out a watery sigh and relaxes into Jonny’s grip. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jonny says, because he has a feeling Patrick’s been saying that more than he ever expected to lately. “Make them forget it.”

Patrick laughs, hollow and low, but when he pulls back, there’s less despondence in his face. “Sure.”

“You can,” Jonny presses, because this is all he has to offer. 

Giving his face the once over, Patrick’s lip twitches. “Yeah.”

\--- 

Jonny almost can’t believe it.

Obviously he has faith in the team, knows they can do it, _wants_ it. Coming off of a lockout and then going into the new season hitting record after record is not something Jonny could have predicted for them, especially not a team that they’ve all had to drag out of the metaphorical gutter and back into the NHL. It’s hard not to be giddy with it during interviews, pumping up his teammates because they deserve it, they _all_ deserve it, but he knows he’s talking more about Patrick than he means to when the press brings it up. 

He can feel a blush heating his cheeks, but doesn’t _care_. Patrick’s more than making up for everything, he’s showing everyone he’s matured and that he didn’t waste a millisecond of his time during the lockout. 

“You gotta stop,” Patrick tells him. He’s kicking his shoes off in Jonny’s hallway and dumping his wallet and keys on the island in the kitchen. “I almost believe I can do anything here, Jonny.”

Jonny rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You keep playing hockey like you are, and I’ll keep pumping up your ego.”

Patrick’s grinning as he climbs onto one of the stools. Jonny’s busy watering his vegetables, judging how long he’s got left before he can pull them. When he turns to look over his shoulder, Patrick’s looking slightly judgemental. “How’s your little allotment there, Taze?”

Jonny snorts. “Whatever, you won’t be complaining when you eat them.”

“I never do,” Patrick agrees. He plays with his keys a little before sitting back. “You know you’re allowed to take a compliment now and then.”

Jonny frowns over his shoulder. “What?”

“The guys? Complimenting you after the game. You’re allowed to _accept_ them.”

It’s easier to ignore him, because Jonny doesn’t know how to accept a compliment and never has. It’s not something he can see changing anytime soon, and it's always been easier to talk about how well the guys perform and how good Patrick's being, everything but him. He shrugs. “I do.”

“Right.” Patrick sounds sceptical. “If you say so.”

Jonny doesn’t say anything else for a while. He grabs two beers out of the fridge and shoves one over the counter towards Patrick. He makes a face, but doesn’t know what to say to that. 

Patrick takes pity on him. “So, we’re playing Osh on Friday, huh?”

Grabbing hold of the subject and running with it, Jonny’s grateful for the opportunity not to have to talk about his lack of ability in accepting praise.

\--- 

Patrick wins MVP.

Jonny feels like screaming _I fucking knew it_ when he watches Patrick grinning with the Conn Smythe in his hands. It’s a validation and Patrick looks a little shell-shocked, super pleased, and not really sure he knows what’s going on. 

“I knew you could do it,” Jonny half-yells into Patrick’s ear, because the stadium is deafening and he _needs_ Patrick to hear it. “I fucking knew it!”

Patrick’s grinning, but Jonny feels his hand clutch at the back of Jonny’s jersey and hang on. “Something about our core, man.”

It’s something he repeats over and over on the ice and after, when they’re celebrating in the locker room. Seventeen fucking seconds to win the game, and Jonny’s got two Stanley Cups. He feels his heart pounding in his chest, but Jonny grabs hold of Patrick and hauls him into a corner, away from everyone else and where nobody else can see, just for a second. 

“Not just our core,” Jonny says, making sure Patrick _understands_. “Fucking you, Kaner.”

Patrick flushes, but he’s still grinning, cheeks stained with the tears he’s been shedding since they entered the locker room. “A team is more than one person, Jonny.”

“What the fuck ever.” Jonny grabs hold of Patrick’s soaked, beer-stained t-shirt and hauls him closer, knuckles white. “You’re an amazing fucking hockey player, Peeks.”

This time the blush is more prominent and Patrick’s eyes are shinier than they were a second ago. “You too, Jonny,” he manages, voice breaking. 

They hug, then, tighter and longer than they ever have. Jonny remembers welcoming Patrick home from Switzerland and not wanting to let go for a beat, but this feels different, feels like he wants Patrick close to him and never wants to let go. 

“I love you,” Jonny says, and means it. 

Patrick’s fingers twitch against Jonny’s hips, but he says, “Yeah,” like he always has, like he always _will_.

\--- 

Jonny wants to say that it doesn’t matter if they don’t repeat, if they don’t get a hand on another cup, but he wants it.

It feels like the end of the world after their fight, after battling back into the playoffs and watching their Cup dreams fade away. 

Patrick’s been crying, standing on the ice like he doesn’t know where he’s going from here. 

Jonny hooks a hand around his waist and says, “We’ll do it again.”

He’s not sure he’s going to get an answer, but Patrick’s face clears and he nods. “Yeah.” he sounds upset, broken like he always is after they lose, but he’s way more sure when he says, “We will.”

\--- 

“Remember that promise you made me?” Patrick’s stretched out on the couch, toes shoved under Jonny’s left thigh and remote resting on his stomach.

Jonny raises his eyebrows. “Which one?”

Patrick grins, and Jonny remembers. “You gonna stay?”

“Are you?” Jonny asks, reminiscent of thirteen. 

Patrick hums, noncommittal, and Jonny turns back to the television.

\--- 

They don’t talk about it.

Jonny’s never been particularly good at texting anyway, but he’s always had something to say to Patrick. It feels wrong this time; he doesn’t want Patrick to think that he’s pressuring him into any decision, but he desperately wants to know. 

There’s no other option for Jonny. He wants to stay in Chicago, wants to play there for as long as they’ll have him, but he’s not sure about Patrick. He hopes, _thinks_ he knows Patrick well enough by now to know what he’ll pick, but the doubt builds. 

He doesn’t know how bad it is until Patrick’s barreling his way into Jonny’s apartment, the same way he always has, and stands in Jonny’s kitchen, glaring at him. 

“What?” Jonny says, smoothie halfway to his mouth. 

Patrick grabs the glass from his hand and slides it onto the counter, before leaning over and kissing Jonny on the mouth. “You gotta know.”

This isn’t helping with Jonny’s confusion, but his brain shorted out somewhere around the time Patrick kissed him. “Uh-”

“‘He has his own family and needs’?” Patrick mimics, looking disgusted. “Everything has always been about _you_ , you asshole.”

“You mean hockey,” Jonny says, stupidly. He thinks he knows what this is, but his brain is taking an embarrassingly long time to catch up. 

“It’s the same thing.” Patrick’s not angry anymore, but he’s no less intense. “I wanna be playing hockey wherever _you_ are, asshole.”

Jonny’s chest feels tight and he’s not completely sure what he wants to say. He gives up on trying to find the words, and drags Patrick back in for a kiss instead.

\--- 

They sign identical contracts for the second time.

They spend the next couple of months doing pressers and the convention and Jonny thinks he looks so fucking happy the entire time that someone’s gotta know, that everyone’s going to _find out_. 

Looking over at Patrick, grinning while he talks about being where he wants to be, with the people he wants to be there with, Jonny thinks _let them_.


End file.
